


Cause for Celebration

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, manila, obligatory combination birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hercules Hansen is Yancy Becket down the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause for Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> Because today is Herc's birthday (and I missed out on writing something for Yancy's 18th birthday three days ago), so naturally, I had to write a Herc/Yancy fic. I mean, there just isn't enough fic of these two anyway.
> 
> Manila is a magical place, and nothing can convince me of otherwise (literally, even canon doesn't have a set script for what happened there, I love it).

Most of Manila’s skyline is still intact.

(Not that the same thing can be said for the three Jaegers deployed to bring down MN-19, especially not Horizon Brave.) But it can be said for her pilots who all came out alive, and that is a feat due for celebration all on its own.

Yancy Becket meets Hercules Hansen then.

 

“Huh,” he says just as he walks over, his signature Becket swag absent but only because that has always been Raleigh’s thing. Having the kid in his head has a tendency for little things like that to bleed over, but this, this is all Yancy as he holds up both bottles with a grin. “Good thing I got two.”

“Becket.”

The other man gives him a nod in greeting, takes one of the bottles offered and pushes the empty one he’s been holding to the side. The glass is cold and dripping with condensation but Gipsy’s pilot has warm hands.

“Hercules Hansen.”

They are standing on the balcony, Striker’s pilot with his back turned away from the party, Lucky Seven’s emblem over his heart. 

“Just Herc.”

“Looks like we both got the short end of the stick with the baby names our parents had in mind.”

They regard each other over their drinks for another moment before Herc lets out a faint chuckle, one that only makes Yancy smile harder into the mouth of his beer bottle.

 

The party is too loud, and just on the side of too wild. Yancy likes it well enough back when he first started jockeying. Jaeger pilots are rock stars, and baby, are the Beckets popular. But it doesn’t take long for Yancy to see that he likes this life for all the other reasons.

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying yourself out there, kid?” Herc nods to the Becket on the other side of the room. Yancy laughs, the beer bottle dripping as he takes a swig, wet hands over wetter glass that glints. “I haven’t been called that in a while.”

“You’re the older one then.”

“I sure hope I look older than _that_.” Yancy gestures to the shirtless Rals who may or may not be shouting something obscene in French, it’s hard to tell with the way he’s got the girls (and the boys) laughing around him. He thinks there is nothing but amusement in his eyes but Herc sees only fondness for a baby brother that you practically raised yourself.

“You do.”

Herc knows that feeling all too well.

 

“…So you’re me in a couple more years?” Yancy asks, peering up at Herc before he slants his eyes to the man sitting sprawled on the too big couch, a pretty woman sitting in his lap as he laughs, low and deep, pressing a close-lipped kiss to her neck.

Herc follows his gaze to Scott, the little brother that’s already got a hand splayed against her stockings, inching higher as he goes. “If you decide to have a sprog too, then yeah.”

“How old?” Yancy takes a sip, curiosity almost like he didn’t expect the Australian pilot to share, let alone be a dad.

“Sixteen.”

“A handful?”

“Brat _hates_ me.”

“That’s not true.” Yancy shakes his head, turns his back to the party and looks out at the city still intact with a kind of softness in his eyes. They are standing next to each other, close enough to touch. “Our old man ran when our mom died, cancer, right after K-Day. We say we hated him too, still do, but that’s not entirely true. A dad’s a dad and if you haven’t ran, you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

Herc glances over at the kid, and really, he’s just that, twenty-five and already fighting for the world. Yancy catches his gaze, smile curving into a grin before he leans over that short distance between them and bumps Herc with his shoulder, adding. “I bet you, your kid _loves_ you.”

And Herc thinks it really could be just that. He laughs, eyes matching Yancy’s for their warmth. “Your old man doesn’t know what he’s missing, Yancy.”

“I know, right?”

(And it shouldn’t come out as a question, but it does.)

“Right.” Herc tells him with conviction just as he leans over and returns the gesture, leans over and touches his shoulder with the kid more than ten years his junior. Yancy doesn’t pull away, and neither does he.

“We did this.”

Yancy motions to the cityscape, the uninterrupted skyline that makes him grin. It’s not the celebration the world intends for their heroes but it is one the heroes make for themselves.

Herc smiles and their bottles clink.

 

bonus:

He wakes up with a groan in a bed with another man lying on his back. The bed is too soft and too big to be his cot back in the Sydney Shatterdome. Herc thinks the mess of blond hair and bleary eyes should look familiar. He blinks and it isn’t until another handful of moments have passed that it all comes to him, that the man he is currently in bed with is none other than Yancy Becket.

And instead of an all American _good morning_ , Yancy tells him with a yawn, “I think someone spiked our drinks.”

He lets out a low groan and reaches up with both hands to scrub at his face. “…Scott.”

“Oh.” Like that explains things, and the fact is that, it does. Yancy turns on his side and asks. “Does your ass hurt?”

“ _What_?”

“Is your ass sore?” Yancy repeats, a picture of perfect nonchalant even though Herc is pretty sure they are both naked underneath the sheets. And really, he isn’t ever going to be awake enough for this. “What—no, why?”

“Huh, so we didn’t go all the way.” They glance at each other before Yancy throws him a coy grin, adding without a pause. “Shame.”

And Herc wants to chalk it up to whatever the fuck Scott slipped into their beers but he knows that this is all him when he asks with a pause, “…you want to rectify that?”

“Is that an offer?” Yancy’s grin turns positively gleeful at the prospect even though he is already sitting up on the bed, sheets slipping down from his shoulders. Herc pushes himself up with an elbow and nods, “it’s a thanks for the beer last night.”

“I got us both drugged, Herc.”

“And look where that got us?”

He reaches out with one hand and pulls the other on top of him. The sheets fall further down when their lips are fractions apart. And maybe this is not quite the celebration this city has in mind for its heroes either but they wouldn’t have it any other way when Yancy opens his mouth into the kiss.

“Good point.”

XXX Kuro

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: [Surprise for the End of the World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1994862)


End file.
